


A Way of Seeing

by otabearaltin



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Eventual Relationships, Fluff, M/M, Mila is the best here tbh, Romance, Slice of Life, Vignette, artist!yuri, sassy!Mila
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-02
Updated: 2017-02-03
Packaged: 2018-09-21 12:17:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9548717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/otabearaltin/pseuds/otabearaltin
Summary: "Oh shit, did i break something? It just looked like a pile of garbage from the side mirror.""That pile of garbage was my artwork, dammit."Weeks away from the exhibit that will make or break his future in Russia's contemporary art scene, Yuri Plisetsky finds himself scrambling to replace a piece in his collection after the campus ‘bad boy’ accidentally destroys it with his motorcycle.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fanfic came about from a conversation with a friend, where I wondered out loud about what it would be like if Yuri was an artist and Otabek mistook his artwork as garbage. I haven't written fiction since graduating from arts school, but this fic's prompt struck a chord in me as something I really wanted to write. Also Mila saying "get the holy water" is my aesthetic, haha~ I hope you all enjoy it as much as I enjoyed creating it. :)
> 
> I revised this to the best of my ability, but I apologize for any mistakes and inconsistencies you may come across. If you'd like to reach me, you may do so via otabear-altin.tumblr.com

Chapter 01

 

"Get rid of it."

That was all Mr. Yakov Feltsman, the art professor-slash-gallery director, offered to say about the piece in front of him before pursing his lips. A flat line. Had it not been for the eyes that bore holes of displeasure through him, Yuri would have been certain that Yakov’s zipped up lips made him look like a poorly drawn caricature. Normally, Yuri would not hesitate to vocalize his snarky thoughts, but he knew this wasn’t the time. Not when the success of his first solo exhibit rested on turning Yakov’s pursed lips into a satisfied smile.

“I-Is there anything I can do to fix it?” Yuri inquired, cutting through the silence that uncomfortably hung between them in the 19-year old’s workspace. “There’s got to be some advice you can give–”

“Advice is precisely what I gave you: get rid of the damned thing. Compared to the rest of the work in your collection, this is garbage.”

To Yakov’s credit, it really was garbage in the strictly literal sense. Being no stranger to sculptures that made intelligent use of trash and recyclable material as medium to convey a clear message or meaning, he was fairly certain that Yuri deliberately 3D-printing a large pile of garbage bags delivered little artistic vision, if at all. “The idea of the piece was to appear like garbage even when it really isn’t,” Yuri replied defensively. “because we judge things based on how we perceive them!” he added, paraphrasing a well-known notion in art theory for good measure. Yakov did not even bother turning the answer around in his head before stopping in front of Yuri.

“Let me level with you,” Yakov began, tenting his fingers as he spoke. “this is an exhibit, not an art theory class. How you’re gonna be seen as an artist after this exhibit opens all goes down to how people are gonna perceive your work!” he continued. Yuri gradually stopped furrowing his eyebrows, only then being made aware that he was doing so in the first place. “Tell me...do you want to be taken seriously as an artist, Yuri?”

“Yes, Sir.”  
“Do you want people to walk into your exhibit thinking your art is iterations of literal garbage?”  
“....No, Sir.”  
“Then I rest my case.” Yakov gave Yuri a once-over before slowly making his way to the door. “The exhibit’s four weeks away, I expect a fresh idea for your final piece over the next few days. And,” he turns to gesture vaguely at the 3D-printed garbage. “get rid of...that.”

Yuri made sure the older man was no longer within earshot before yelling an extensive list of profanities. Luckily his workspace is an old painting studio-turned-storage room in the university’s old building that he cleaned up to use, so no one but himself was subject to hearing language whose colorfulness rivalled his collection of oils, acrylics, and what-have-you. He was fuming, but what about, he was no longer certain. All things considered, Yakov was right. A pile of 3D-printed garbage bags was anything if not uninspired; a misstep in Yuri’s otherwise well-made and well-curated upcoming exhibit. At 19 years old and on his second year in college, he was the future of Russian contemporary art. If anything, he was most angry at himself for not thinking of replacing the sculpture sooner. But still, he was reluctant about throwing out an artwork, the way Yuri’s grandpa must have felt sending him off on his own from Moscow to St. Petersburg for a full art scholarship. With a heavy heart, Yuri picked up the artwork and left the studio.

—

Yuri had just gotten out of the old building and stepped onto the parking lot when his phone began to ring. Thankfully, aside from being one of the few people who’d be at school on a Saturday in the first place, he managed to park close enough to the old building’s steps. He set the artwork down next to the lamppost adjacent his car before picking up his phone. He didn’t have to look at the screen to know it was Mila, who was probably about to talk his ear off about some new eye candy.

“Hey Yuri! Bitch listen, you gotta swing by my place for dinner so I can tell you about my dance instructor’s new assistant who is fine aS FUCK, IT’S–”  
“Ohmygod Mila, I love you and all but when did I ever care for any of your boy toys?”  
“BITCH, LET ME FINISH. It’s the hot Kazakh boy, Otabek Altin!!” Yuri began choking on nothing at the mention of Otabek, the mysterious and brooding campus ‘bad boy’ who Yuri has had a crush on for a while. “W-what? Why? Is he even an Art major?” Yuri already knew he was a Business major (because _of course_ he did), but Otabek dipping his toes into dance was a mystery all the same that piqued his interest.  
“I’ll tell you all about it later! Leaving the studio late again?”  
“Nah, I’m about to leave in a bit to bring a rejected piece home so I’ll be at your place before 6. Bye!” Yuri stuffed the phone back in his jean pocket, and fished out his car keys.

He doesn’t recall ever telling Mila directly about liking Otabek, but being attracted to the Kazakh in one form or another seemed to be the norm in the university. The guy was so perfect, it was sickening. Sure, he wasn’t very sociable and he looked like trouble with a pompadour and a motorcycle, but he was well-liked for multiple reasons. Despite initially looking like a delinquent to most of the teachers, his good academic record actually opened the university’s doors to accepting more non-Russian students. No stranger to attracting admirers from different genders and sexual orientations, even the people Otabek has rejected (i.e. everyone who has tried hitting on him) had nothing bad to say about the man. A lot of people wanted to be closer to Otabek, but polite as he was, it seemed that there was no one in particular he’s ever wanted to open up to. Knowing this, Yuri was satisfied admiring the man from afar, wondering if Otabek even knew he existed when their worlds were so different. (Surely, if Otabek was really interested in business he’d have heard of all the art collectors scrambling to acquire a piece by _the_ Yuri Plisetsky before his market value shot up, but this could just be Yuri being too optimistic about his own career.)

“Speak of the devil…” Yuri whispered to himself as he lifted his car’s trunk. As if on cue, Otabek himself came into view looking every inch like a modern-day James Dean as he rolled up to the parking lot on his motorcycle. Yuri had to literally pinch himself in the leg to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. Deciding that pinching himself hurt a lot, he shook his head and walked over to pick up the rejected artwork on the floor. At least, that was what he planned on doing before he stopped in his tracks. As luck would have it, Otabek had decided to park right next to him in the nearly empty parking lot. On top of that, Otabek had also decided to back up his motorcycle enough to crush a significant portion of Yuri’s extremely fragile sculpture. Hearing the odd crunch under his motorcycle, Otabek cut off the engine and immediately removed his helmet to inspect his rear wheel.

"Oh shit, did i break something? It just looked like a pile of garbage from the side mirror."  
"That pile of garbage was my artwork, dammit."  
“Well…” the Kazakh drawled, “that’s one way to call it.”  
“I was being serious.”  
“...I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Yuri let out an exasperated sigh, a reaction that Otabek considered far too mellow for what the situation clearly called for. To Otabek’s credit, it really did look like a pile of garbage, that much Yakov made clear earlier. And Yuri was going to get rid of the piece anyway, but not by having it run over by the man of his dreams. Otabek was considerate enough to push his motorcycle a bit further away from the now destroyed piece, and while Yuri had half a mind to pick it up and bring it home, he ultimately decided against it. He turned around to close his car’s trunk when he was stopped by a rough hand gripping his lanky wrist.

“Hey,” Otabek began, in a voice so gentle that Yuri was sure his stomach was doing pirouettes. “I don’t think I’ll be able to live with myself if you won’t let me make it up to you.” Upon realizing he still had his hand around the blonde’s wrist, he quickly withdrew his hand while muttering an apology. “I mean...I don’t really know much about making art but if there’s anything I can do to help you, I’d do it.” he said, scratching his nape. For a fleeting moment, it seemed to Yuri that Otabek was nervous, but he had no reason to be. Yuri shook the thought away as wishful thinking on his part.

“Well, thank you but...I can’t really think of anything right now. I’ll let you know, I guess?” Yuri replied shyly. Was he flirting? Even _he_ thought he didn’t sound very much like his usual, brash self. But the reply earned Yuri the sight of a smiling Otabek, head dipped to the side with his lips curved upward ever so slightly. Yuri had to ball a fist behind him, hoping it would keep his heart from doing a grand jete out of his chest. The brunette took out his phone, opened his contacts, and handed it to Yuri. “Fine by me. But let me text you about it...in case you forget.”

—

“BOIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII–”  
“OHMYGOD MILA, WILL YOU CALM DOWN?”

It’s only been an hour since Yuri’s eventful encounter with Otabek, and Mila began freaking out the minute Yuri mumbled to his mashed potatoes that the Kazakh asked for his number. “I’m sorry Yuri, but this is a big deal! The guy doesn’t exactly go around talking to everyone, let alone asking for people’s numbers.”  
“He was just being nice cause he broke my artwork, that’s all.”  
“Oh please, if I were him I would’ve just given you money for the trouble and called it a day. You guys were totally flirting,” Mila lilted. He felt swayed to believe that too, but Yuri brushed off the prospect of mutual attraction as a perspective skewed by his crush on the brunette. “I mean, asking for your number ‘in case you forget’ to keep in touch? That’s smooth as fuck, how are you not melting right now?”  
But he was. He can’t get himself to forget the satisfied look on Otabek’s face as he looked at Yuri’s number on his phone, saying “Yuri Plisetsky” to himself in a way that made the blonde’s legs do a fine contemporary dance rendition of gelatin. He was, of course, never letting Mila know that. He dismissed her with a groan before asking her what Otabek was even doing assisting in preparations for the Dance department’s show coming up in two months.

As it turned out, Otabek was pursuing a Business degree with an Art Management track. “It’s basically business but with a focus on PR, arts, and whatever,” Mila explained. “so Otabek’s assisting in the Dance department’s upcoming show as credited work hours for a class.” Yuri nodded in reply, having nothing to add to the revealed information.  
“I still think he might be interested in you, though.”  
“Are we seriously talking about this again? He’s just being nice!” Yuri breathed out exasperatedly.  
“For fuck’s sake, Yuri Plisetsky, just hear me out on this! Everything clicked in my head when you said he asked for your number!” Mila took the silence that followed as a cue to continue. “Otabek didn’t really want to help the Dance department...he wanted to assist the gallery director.” For the second time that day, Yuri found himself choking thanks to Otabek Altin.  
“Y-Yakov?? Why?”  
“Word on the street said working with Yakov meant being hands-on with gallery preparations...” Mila replied nonchalantly, but the gleam in her eyes undeniable. “Yakov discouraged him because Otabek would have to work closely with the artist for the upcoming exhibit.”  
“...that’s my exhibit.”  
“Exactly, you dense little bitch.”

—

Yuri was certain his face was on fire the entire time he was walking from Mila’s apartment on the third floor to his own on the fifth. Who could blame him? He never thought his crush would be doing anything so close to his world. His chest was swelling with a strange amount of optimism, wondering if Otabek wanted to be Yakov’s assistant because he was interested in Yuri. But the blonde, skeptical as he always was of people (save for Mila and his grandpa), suppressed that optimism by convincing himself that if anything, Otabek was interested in his art. He was probably interested in all the press that began surrounding his work recently. Probably.

He didn’t find himself thinking about Otabek as he went about preparing for bed. It was a rare day for Yuri to be at home and ready for bed at 9PM when he’d normally still be holed up in the studio making art, but he figured that trying to not do any work would help him come up with an idea for his final piece. He was in the middle of brainstorming different concepts when his screen lit up and broke him from his reverie. It was a message from Otabek. Yuri found himself subconsciously combing his fingers through his shoulder-length hair and tucking the locks behind his ears, in an effort to look presentable to a man who couldn’t even see him right now. He picked up his phone and read the message:

_Good evening Yuri, Otabek here. :-)_  
_I realize that you gave me your number but I never got around to giving you mine._  
_So have you thought of anything I can help you with or what? I’m serious, I swear._

Yuri smiled at his screen. If appearances were everything, he would have never taken Otabek for someone who texted like an excessively formal old man. Guess this showed that whatever presumptions he had of the man could be wrong. And then it clicked. He found just what his exhibit needed. He could already see the smile on Yakov’s face. Without wasting any more time, Yuri quickly sent Otabek a reply:

_now that you mention it, i think i found just the thing hehe_  
_monday afternoon_  
_meet me @ the art studio in the old building :)_

—

Yuri walked with a skip in his step as he made his way across the campus from the gallery to his studio in the old building. He just finished proposing his idea for his final piece to Yakov, and it was clear from the small smile on the older man’s face that he was satisfied. Having secured the gallery director’s approval, it was now only a matter of convincing Otabek to model for the piece. Granted, the Kazakh did say that he was willing to help Yuri, so the blonde did not worry too much about persuading him.

Speaking of Otabek, Yuri wasn’t expecting him till around 2 in the afternoon, but the lunch hour had just ended and the man was already standing by the art studio. His eyes landed on Yuri walking down the hall. To be fair, Yuri didn’t really specify a definite time in the afternoon. He expected Otabek to be busy with other matters, or in need of a good amount of time to find the studio in the abandoned building. “Wow, didn’t expect you to find the place so fast.” Yuri remarked as he unlocked the door. “Well,” Otabek began with a nervous laugh, “you gotta give me more credit in knowing places in school. I’m a senior after all.”  
“...fair enough.”

“I’ll put on some coffee.” said Yuri, to which Otabek nodded. Yuri fixed his hair up in a messy ponytail and rolled up the sleeves of his loose white smock before drawing water from the sink for the coffee pot. Otabek sat on the chair closest to the studio’s lone window wall with an odd air of familiarity. And the way the afternoon light glowed in from the window to Otabek’s strong facial features made the man look godly. He switched on the coffee maker and sat on the chair adjacent Otabek’s.

“Thanks for making time today, Otabek. I have a friend who’s a senior so I know you guys are busy these days…” Yuri said, hoping he didn’t sound nervous as he tried to break the ice. The Kazakh had removed his leather jacket and placed it on top of the table. The man was wearing a black shirt that perfectly hugged his muscular upper body and a pair of acid wash jeans. Yuri found it unfair for the man to be so good-looking.  
“It’s nothing, really. I took on more classes as a junior so I could have more spare time this year for art management apprenticeship. And...hey,” Otabek reached over to gently tap Yuri’s hands that were folded over the table. “I owe you one, remember?” Yuri willed himself not to drown in the chocolate brown pools of Otabek’s eyes, but everything about the brunette made Yuri feel giddy. It took a lot of effort, but Yuri managed to pull himself away from Otabek’s smoldering gaze to get up and ready two mugs that haven’t been repurposed for dipping paintbrushes yet. Otabek cleared his throat.

“So,” Otabek began, “any reason you asked me to drop by today?”  
“Give me a sec,” Yuri replied as he poured coffee into each mug. “how do you take your coffee?”  
“Black please, thank you.” Yuri set a mug in front of Otabek, which the brunette gratefully took.  
“So here’s the thing....” Yuri said, his fingers tapping lightly against the surface of the mug. “I want you to model a bust for me.” Otabek spilled the coffee in his mouth back into the mug in shock.  
“W-what? You want me...to be your model?” the Kazakh inquired, to which the Russian eagerly nodded.  
“My exhibit’s coming up in a few weeks and I have to replace the piece you ran over, so I talked to the curator this morning about a new idea but it requires a bust and since you said you’d help me I thought–” Yuri noticed Otabek furrowing his eyebrows so he quickly put a hand over his mouth upon realizing he was rambling. With a sigh, he continued. “I mean...you don’t have to, but you have just the build I was looking for to pull off the idea.” Silence hung over them for a while, and Yuri humored himself by staring at the steam dancing above his coffee mug. It was out of the ordinary for Yuri to be stretching his patience like this, but he didn’t want to risk scaring off a potential muse. Moreover, he didn’t want to scare off Otabek, period.

“I’ll do it.” Otabek declared with determination.  
“Wh–you will?”  
Otabek nodded. Before Yuri could stop himself, he got up to tackle Otabek into a hug and squealed into the older man’s shoulder. Yuri only realized what he did when Otabek’s strong arms made their way around his frame.  
“I don’t think I’d make a good model but hey, why not?” the Kazakh mumbled. Yuri shook his head furiously.  
“No! You’re perfect for this, trust me.” Yuri replied, to which Otabek let out a low chuckle. If they were lingering in each other’s arms for too long, neither of them cared to admit it. Admittedly Yuri was afraid to pull away, certain that his cheeks were too flushed for his liking.

—

Otabek spent all afternoon on the Saturday of that week at Yuri’s studio. Yuri had already oriented the man about the casting process the day before, so now it was only a matter of actually casting him. Otabek was worried at first, but when Yuri assured him he’d only be casting the older man from the neck to his chest he felt more at ease. He took off his shirt, leaned back comfortably on the chair, and quietly watched Yuri as the younger man prepared the plaster bandages he’d be using to make the cast.

“Just relax, okay?” Yuri said as he walked over to Otabek. The blonde began coating Otabek’s chest with petroleum jelly, to act as a barrier between Otabek’s skin and the plaster. The Kazakh froze when Yuri began nonchalantly gliding his oil-slicked hands across his bare chest. “I’ll just work on your chest today, since it’s the widest part of the piece and would take the longest to make. I’ll work on your neck another time…” Yuri trailed off. Otabek’s completely red face did not go unnoticed.  
“Is something wrong, Otabek?” he casually asked, extending his leg from where he sat so his toes could reach the tray full of plaster bandages on the floor. He dipped one in water to activate the plaster before placing it on Otabek’s collarbone.  
“N-nothing, I just–”  
“WOW we are definitely casting your neck another time, I’m gonna need all the plaster I have right now to capture the detail of your muscles.” Yuri interrupted absentmindedly. “Oh...I’m sorry, you were saying something?”  
“There it is! I’m amazed you can talk about my body so casually, it’s...new to me.” Otabek confessed. He was expecting Yuri to blush or get flustered like he normally did when they talk, but Yuri just waved him off and continued applying the plaster bandages on the older man.  
“Yeah, us art students get that a lot. I guess people are under this impression that sexy shit happens during lifecasting or nude drawing sessions, but half of the time we’re staring at the model like ‘why the fuck can’t I draw your boobs right’ and literally nothing else happens.” Otabek slowly started laughing, much to Yuri’s dismay.  
“Ohmygod stop laughing, I’m serious!”  
“You’re right, but I still think it’s a little funny.” the brunette replied, which made Yuri roll his eyes (though he was smiling a bit at the sound of Otabek’s laugh).  
“Not that, idiot. The cast will get all messed up if you keep moving!”

—

“Can I ask you something, Yuri?” Otabek started. He was sitting still on the chair, waiting for the plaster to dry. It would only take around five minutes, but Otabek figured he’d make conversation.  
“Sure, shoot.” Yuri replied from where he was lying on the studio floor, picking mindlessly at the old paint splotches that littered his tattered work shirt.  
“You said I had the ‘build’ you were looking for to pull off your idea...”  
“Yeah, and?”  
“What did you mean? The way I see it, it’d be better if you modelled the bust yourself since it’ll be part of your solo exhibit and all.” Yuri rolled over on his side and shook his head at Otabek.  
“It’s not that simple. This piece needs to portray strength. I take one look at you and I can’t deny how strong you look, and I…” the blonde wavered, drawing imaginary patterns with his fingers on the floor. “I just don’t look strong at all, even if I wanted to.”  
“You sure have a weird way of looking at things,” Otabek remarked, which made Yuri sit up in confusion.  
“strength has nothing to do with bulky arms and six-packs. I haven’t known you for long, but the look in your eyes when you talk about your ideas...the way you focus and seem so determined...you’re so much stronger than you give yourself credit for.”

Yuri didn’t think it was possible, but for the nth time that week he found himself blushing because of Otabek Altin.

—

They managed to end before 8PM, despite Yuri needing to recast Otabek’s right shoulder when the older man couldn’t stop himself from tucking Yuri’s hair behind his ear when it fell from his messy bun. While Otabek was rinsing off in the washroom, Yuri busied himself with cleaning up the studio.

Yuri was in the middle of (making a poor attempt at) putting some empty basins back on a high shelf when Otabek came back into the room. Afraid the younger man would fall from the stool he was tiptoeing on, Otabek rushed to his side. “It’s fine, I got it.” Yuri said as he managed to finally push the basins in place on the shelf. Otabek meant to help Yuri as he got down from the stool, but instead ended up poking the man’s waist. Yuri only managed to squeak before clumsily falling off the stool, bringing him and Otabek on top of each other on the floor.

Otabek wanted to ask the blonde if he was hurt, but the latter wouldn’t stop laughing. Out of curiosity, Otabek poked Yuri’s waist again. And again. “Ahh...so you’re ticklish.” the Kazakh remarked with a cheeky grin. He proceeded to tickle Yuri, locking him in place in his arms despite the blonde’s incessant squirming.

“I-I can’t breathe,” Yuri said, unable to stop himself from laughing. “ah, s-stop! Beka!”  
Otabek stopped. He stared at Yuri, dumbfounded. Yuri, face a fitful shade of pink, began lightly hitting Otabek’s chest and pleading to be let go. The Kazakh shook his head and wrapped his arms tighter around Yuri’s waist.  
“Hmm…maybe later, _Yura_.” Otabek cooed.

—

“If you tell me one more time that you and Otabek are definitely ‘not flirting’ when you CLEARLY ARE, I swear to God I’m gonna make you gargle holy water.”  
“But Mila I–”  
“You have nicknames for each other! And you probably spend more time hugging him than actually working! You guys are flirty as fuck, like I’d be personally offended if he doesn’t ask you out.”

Yuri didn’t want to hear that, but what if Mila was right? The past few days have been unbelievable, and every time Otabek talked to him or messaged him, he found himself falling faster and harder. It was dangerous, that much Yuri knew. But Otabek was difficult to dislike, and he made Yuri feel loved if anything.

“He fucking _walked_ you home because you left your car and he didn’t have an extra helmet, ohmYGOD YURI!” Mila exclaimed, shaking Yuri by the shoulders. Before Yuri could muster another reply drenched in denial, his phone buzzed from its place on Mila’s kitchen counter. It was a text from Otabek. Mila took it upon herself to open the message and read it out loud.

 _“Good evening, Yura. I know we aren’t casting till Friday, but can I drop by your studio on Monday? I have something for you.”_  
Yuri lunged toward his phone. “H-he really said that?” He took his phone from Mila and read the message again.  
“So do you wanna tell me again how there’s nothing going on between you two, or should I get the holy water?”  
“Seriously, Mila: fuck you if you end up being right.”

Yuri left Mila’s apartment before he could finish hearing what may be her longest ‘yeah boi’ ever.

—

“Here, it’s for you.”

Otabek handed Yuri a paper bag, which the latter took questioningly. In it was a simple black motorcycle helmet. “It’s not much,” Otabek began, scratching his nape. “but I hope you like it.”  
“Thank you but...I can’t accept this,” Yuri replied meekly. The look of hurt that swept Otabek’s features felt like a knife to his heart. “I’d feel awfully burdened receiving this from you.” He followed up, but he knew he couldn’t take back what he said. The Kazakh exhaled as though defeated, but the look he gave Yuri when they locked eyes said otherwise.

“Listen, I’m...not very good with words and I don’t really know how to explain everything because I’m new to this kind of thing but, if you’d let me...I’d like to court you.” Otabek confessed, his head bent so low that a lock of his hair fell over his face. “I was gonna wait till after all our casting sessions before asking you, but after last Saturday...I don’t want you to think I’m playing with you. I would never do that,” He swept his hair back up and met Yuri’s gaze again. “I really like you, Yura.”

“This helmet...is it supposed to be dowry or something?” Yuri mused, putting the helmet on his head. His quip made Otabek relax a little, and the older man reached over to adjust the straps so the helmet would fit snug on Yuri’s head.  
“I got a plain one so you could paint it to suit your taste. Plus I figured you’d need a helmet when I bring you home, or take you out on dates.”  
Yuri scoffed. “Wow, you seem pretty confident I won’t reject you.”  
“Honestly? I’m not. I just don’t want to feel like the only one who thinks there’s definitely something here.”  
“Well you’re wrong. I don’t think there’s something between us,” Yuri began as he threw the helmet back in the paper bag, and Otabek went pale. “I _know_ there is. I like you too, Beka.”  
Otabek sighed in relief, and took one of Yuri’s hands to kiss his fingertips. The blonde giggled at the gesture and pulled Otabek into his arms.  
“You’re gonna be the death of me, Yura.” he said, nuzzling into the crook of the other’s neck.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "This piece...I made it because I realized that you weren’t how I thought you’d be.”  
> “And is that...a good thing?”  
> “It’s fucking fantastic.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final chapter! Thank you to all the kind people who showed the first chapter some love, and I hope you enjoy this one all the same. :)
> 
> As always, I've revised and proofread this to the best of my ability, but I sincerely apologize for any mistakes and inconsistencies you may come across.

**Chapter 02**

 

It didn’t take long before word spread around campus that the Russian art prodigy and the school heartthrob were exclusive. (The latter was still in the midst of courting the former, but it was rather clear to everyone who saw them that they had eyes for no one but each other.) No announcements had to be made: seeing the two barely sociable men together constantly was all everyone needed to make sense of it all. No one had anything bad to say about the two getting together, either. Frankly, everyone thought they were perfect for each other, for which Yuri was grateful.

Knowing how other people thought of them together, Otabek often used this information in hopes of swaying Yuri to agree to be his boyfriend already. Yuri, however, had been resilient in ignoring Otabek’s pleas in favor of getting to know the man first before committing to him. Anyone else would have been discouraged, but Otabek expected this much from the strong and beautiful object of his affection. God, he had it so bad for the Russian. He could wait a lifetime for him if that was what it took.

—

These days, Yuri had been spending more time at the gallery than his studio as he gradually moved his exhibit pieces to the space. The exhibit was a week and a half away, and with nearly all his pieces ready, he was not particularly stressed. Now it was only a matter of finishing his final work, which had Otabek’s casted neck and chest as a component. It was a site-specific piece, meaning to say that it was meant to exist only in the confines of the gallery, so he honestly had no choice but to spend his studio hours in the gallery instead. Yuri wouldn’t have minded this before, but that was before Otabek happened. He hated to admit it, but he was happy every time Otabek came by the studio to be with him, even when he didn’t have to. He had gotten used to Otabek bringing them both food as they spent hours poring over their respective work, and he had gotten used to leaving his car at home in favor of riding on Otabek’s motorcycle and hugging the man from behind. And because his exhibit space was currently restricted to everyone but himself, Yuri had been seeing Otabek less than he had become used to.

Yuri, without a doubt, liked the man. But how and why the Kazakh had taken a liking to him, he wasn’t entirely certain. Sure, Otabek has told him on more than one occasion about the different things he liked about him, but he still wasn’t completely sold. Was it because he had always been so skeptical? Perhaps, but Yuri highly doubted that Otabek fell for him that fateful day at the parking lot. It took hearing stories about Otabek’s kindness and intelligence before he truly developed feelings for the man, after all. 

— 

“Long day, Yura?” he asked the yawning Yuri, who managed a weak nod in reply. It had been a busy day for both of them, Otabek being caught up in assisting meetings at the Dance department regarding the upcoming show’s production schedule, but Yuri looked exceptionally spent. They continued walking in silence toward Otabek’s parked motorcycle. It was a chilly evening, and the two were at liberty to hold hands and lean against each other for there were hardly any people around. Once they made it to the parking lot, Otabek let go of Yuri, presumably to get the motor ready. Yuri lazily put his helmet on with his eyes shut, and stretched his limbs a little.

“What an adorable little kitten...” Otabek said in a voice so soft that Yuri barely heard it.“I am _not_ cute.” the blonde opened his eyes to the sound of Otabek’s laughter. Not one of his usual low chuckles, but a full-bodied laugh that made the Kazakh’s eyes crinkle. Yuri’s eyes landed on Otabek, crouched down next to his bike and stroking an actual kitten. “That’s contestable,” Otabek snorted. “... _kitten.”_

Yuri spent a good five minutes chasing Otabek around the parking lot, his face beet red in embarrassment.

—

“Are you sure I’m allowed to be here, Yura? The exhibit isn’t opening till later this week.” Yuri waved him off nonchalantly.“You’ll be coming with me, anyway. And besides, I think I owe my model a private preview of the exhibit.” Otabek put a hand to his chest, feigning shock.“Do I really have the honor of being toured by _the_ Yuri Plisetsky? I must be dreaming.” the Russian shoved him lightly, causing the older man to smile before intertwining their fingers.

Yuri proceeded to show him each work, explaining each medium he used and how each piece reflected the exhibit’s theme. All the while, Otabek was listening intently, nodding along to Yuri’s explanations while staring at each piece’s handiwork.

“So what do you think so far, Beka?” Yuri asked nervously upon realizing that Otabek had been quiet all this time. Otabek turned back around and cupped Yuri’s hands in his own, kissing them so gently that Yuri thought the older man mistook his hands for glass. “It’s beautiful, everyone’s gonna love it.” he wrapped Yuri in his embrace, and the younger man mumbled a word of thanks against his chest. Yuri pulled away to meet Otabek’s eyes. “But we still have one more work to see...” the Russian said, words laced with meaning. It didn’t take much for Otabek to know what he meant. 

Before he knew it, he was ushered into a nearly empty room that was blindingly white. His confusion only seemed to double as Yuri dragged him over to a corner, where the older man’s white bust was placed atop an equally white pedestal. Otabek stood chest to chest with his cast, his eyebrows furrowed. Yuri held his shoulders and angled him slightly so he’d stand beside the bust instead. “Yura…?” he said questioningly as the younger man ran over to the light dimmer next to the door. Yuri gave him a cheeky grin in return, as if to say, “wait till you see _this”_.

Suddenly, the pristine white of the room disappeared. In its place appeared a room that literally glowed from the vibrant splashes of neon paint, littering every corner of the space. Otabek turned his head toward his rigid bust and was left awestruck. Yuri had placed several colored lights around the pedestal, angling them in such a way that light seemed to be emanating from the bust to the rest of the room. He would have remained quietly immersed in this luminescent world, had it not been for Yuri who he realized was cuddling his arm. Otabek gingerly kissed the top of Yuri’s head before Yuri spoke up.

“The truth is...this piece wouldn’t exist if I hadn’t met you. Sure, I knew who you were before we formally met but–Beka I know it’s dark but I can still feel you laughing _ohmygod_ ...but that’s the thing: I knew things _about_ you, but I didn’t really know you. This piece...I made it because I realized that you weren’t how I thought you’d be.”  
“And is that...a good thing?”  
“It’s fucking fantastic.”

— 

It was barely 8PM when the two managed to leave campus. To celebrate what he believed was definitely going to be a successful exhibit opening, Otabek decided to bring Yuri to his apartment for a change. Though their respective apartments were situated on two roads running opposite each other from school, Yuri caved when Otabek announced that dinner would be the greatest pairing to ever happen: red wine and cheese pizza.

—

“Do you have any siblings?” Yuri asked, halfway through his third slice of pizza. They were cuddling by Otabek’s living room coffee table, doing away with chairs in favor of sitting on the carpeted floor. “A younger sister, how about you?” The Russian shook his head, and Otabek didn’t press him any further. When Otabek stood up to bring his and Yuri’s wine glasses to the sink, Yuri eyes caught sight of something poking out from behind one of the sofa cushions. Curious, he reached for it.

It was a sketchpad. What caught Yuri’s attention wasn’t how clearly worn-out and used it was, but that it was a brand that could only be found in specialized art supply stores. He didn’t want to pry, but Yuri was so intrigued by the charcoal and pencil smudges that littered the cover. Before he could even scold himself, he had already flipped the sketchpad open. “Ohmygod…” he said quietly to himself. As he flipped through the pages, carefully noting the gradual improvement in each drawing, he realized that they were all studies of a person. They were incomplete, but it was clear that they were all sketches of Yuri.

Otabek came back from the kitchen, flustered upon seeing that Yuri had found his sketchpad. The younger man, sensing his presence despite not looking up, lingered on a page. “Why didn’t you tell me you could draw?” he looked up, and Otabek couldn’t help but feel his voice disappear as Yuri’s eyes pierced through him, mimicking emerald shards. 

“Because...I don’t quite know how to yet.”  
“Bullshit.”  
“I don’t know how to respond to that.” Yuri sighed. If he had sounded angry, he didn’t really mean to.

“I’ve never had anyone draw _me_ before, so I gotta hand it to you cause these look really good but…”  
“But?”  
“How come they aren’t finished?” Yuri looked down and began leafing through the sketchpad once more. He couldn’t help but wonder why Otabek never drew his lips, almost always covering it strategically with hair or flowers, or just leaving the space where his mouth should be completely blank.

There were so many things Otabek wanted to say.

He wanted to tell Yuri about the time he first saw Yuri a year ago: he was roaming around the campus looking for a place to study when his feet led him to the old building. He saw him, he wanted to say, at his art studio one afternoon when Yuri was splayed on the floor, eyes shut in slumber. He wanted to tell Yuri about how he couldn’t seem to pull himself from looking away because of how his soft blonde locks spread behind him like ripples in the afternoon tide, and how his pale fingers curled around the well-worn paintbrush he fell asleep holding. He wanted to tell Yuri about how beautiful he found him, and not because of how he looked, but how he made him _feel._ He wondered how hard he must have been working for him to fall asleep suddenly, and why he holed himself up to be alone in the old building when the rest of the Art majors stayed together elsewhere. He wanted to know what Yuri thought about when he made art, what made him smile, and what fears or doubts clouded his mind; he wanted to know everything. He had never been captivated before, especially not like this. He wanted to tell Yuri how he resolved to learn how to draw after Yuri stirring in his sleep forced him to walk away. He sketched every day, wanting to be good enough to capture Yuri’s beautiful image that he couldn’t get out of his mind. Tried as he might, he couldn’t seem to draw the younger man’s lips. He felt like he didn’t deserve to. He wanted to tell Yuri how he didn’t have to try too hard to find his name, when ‘Yuri Plisetsky: the future of Russian contemporary art’ was the first thing he saw when he opened the school website. Heck, he even considered telling Yuri about how he swayed his art collecting father to purchase one of his works before his market value shot up. 

He wanted to tell him all these things as they flitted through his mind, but decided it was best to do so another time. 

“I just...never knew if I could do you justice, Yura.” Otabek said, his hand retreating to his nape the way it normally did at times like these. Yuri flushed, and Otabek was certain it wasn’t from the wine. Embarrassment was replaced with determination as he handed the sketchpad to Otabek before proceeding to lie down like a life drawing session model on the sofa. 

“Well, I’m here right now, aren’t I? Now go get a pencil and figure out my lips already.” Otabek shook his head with a smile, and put the sketchpad down on the coffee table.  
“I don’t need a pencil to do that.”

“Huh?” Yuri turned his head and found Otabek’s face inches from his, the older man’s face so filled with love that Yuri thought his chest would burst from all of these feelings he had never known before. He had every right to be afraid, but the fact of the matter was: he wasn’t. Otabek had given him no reason to be. Yuri closed his eyes, and Otabek’s lips landed on his lips without a moment’s notice. It was gentle and sweet, conveying all the feelings they had for one another. Otabek could feel the way Yuri’s arms carefully snaked around his neck, and the way the younger man smiled against his lips, as if to say he had finally accepted Otabek as his significant other. Otabek was about to pull away, but Yuri wouldn’t let him.

  
This was dangerous. If Yuri kept kissing him like this, Otabek would know enough about Yuri’s lips to fill up an entire sketchpad with drawings of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Conceptualizing Yuri's art piece was so difficult, I just hope it made sense to you guys the way it did in my head. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! 
> 
> Mau  
> otabear-altin.tumblr.com

**Author's Note:**

> The title is a reference to John Berger's 'Way of Seeing', which is an important text in art theory and criticism.
> 
> I divided the work into two parts, but the second part will be much shorter and will focus on piecing together all the things Yuri hasn't figured out yet. 
> 
> Thank you for reading this far and I hope you can show this work some love! :)
> 
> Mau  
> otabear-altin.tumblr.com


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